


Throw Away the Keys

by romanitas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Banter, Dialogue Heavy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanitas/pseuds/romanitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke accidentally lock themselves out of the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw Away the Keys

**Author's Note:**

> i watched a buzzfeed video about opposite sex roommates locking themselves out of the house and immediately thought "bellarke au" because what else would you think about??

Bellamy doesn’t even remember what they’re arguing about when he parallel parks along the side of the street, but the fact that he’s mastered the art of perfectly aligning with the curb while snapping back over the proper use of possessive apostrophes is a talent. Clarke unbuckles her seatbelt aggressively and the car beeps at him because he hasn’t put it in park yet, but the second he does, she flings the door open with a heavy sigh.

“I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure the Decemberists were not singing about Spain when they wrote O Valencia! They’re pretty northwest based.”

“And _I’m_ just saying, it’s not weird to automatically think about the Valencia in Spain first.”

“Who does that? Literally only you. You’re wrong, Bellamy.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“Your face is wrong.”

It’s harmless as far as arguments go, a friendly bickering that’s much more tolerable than the way they used to go for the low blow at each other, aiming to hit hardest at subtle insecurities. He’d even go so far as to say it’s fun, that maybe he just picks a fight to be a pain in the ass, because a riled up Clarke is hilarious. They wouldn’t have been able to move in as roommates if their arguments were still hostile enough to blow up a house. There’s a rhythm to the back and forth, but they agree on all the big issues. That’s what helped them realize they actually got along in the first place.

As they get up to the door, Clarke starts digging through her purse while Bellamy takes a quick peek at his phone, but she digs for a little too long, and he looks up just as she huffs in frustration.

“Okay, I can’t find my keys. You realize you could have had the door open before I wasted all that time looking anyway, right?”

“Uh.” He pauses, mid text to his sister. “I don’t have my keys.”

“What.”

It’s not even a question. Just a statement of disbelief. Not that he’s lying – just disbelief that he doesn’t have them. Her expression matches, and he resists the temptation to say something else to irritate her more because it’s funny.

“I left them inside? We were walking out the door in a rush, I left them on the table because I didn’t feeling like carrying around too much shit.”

“Your pockets are literally bigger than mine! It’s not that hard to shove keys inside!”

“You said you had yours!”

“I thought I did!”

“Well, we have the spare right? Didn’t we hide it somewhere?” he asks.

She gives him a flat look. “Yeah, with your sister. You refused to leave a key anywhere outside that someone could sneak up and steal it and then, and I quote, ‘break in to steal all my books.’”

“Some of them are limited edition.”

“You’re a nerd with no keys.”

“So are you.”

Clarke huffs again and shimmies through the bushes towards the window while Bellamy takes a seat on the step by the front door. It’s locked, and he could make this easier on her by telling her, but she called him a nerd, so he feels like it’s an acceptable retribution, even if she wasn’t technically wrong.

She struggles with it for about five seconds before freezing, then resting her forehead to the glass. “I don’t know why I thought that would work. You realize the reason the house is always so stuffy when you come home is because you shut _all_ the windows?”

“It’s just as bad as leaving a key under a brick, Clarke. Open windows invite thieves. Ask Miller, he’s the one with the larceny misdemeanor.”

“Did he burglar _your_ house?”

“He steals our beer all the time.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but she sits dramatically on the stoop next to him. “So you lock our windows to keep Miller out?”

“You don’t?”

“Just text your sister.” 

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes again, but it’s a fair reaction. It’s always safe to assume he’s texting his sister, because she’s the person he texts the most _and_ they like to have emoji wars when there’s nothing else to say. It’s literally the only time he uses emojis, and he likes to use all the stupid pointless ones just to get on Octavia’s nerves. Sometimes he likes to channel Carrie Fisher and spell out entire texts in emojis, which usually just results in walls of the poop one sent back.

“I hope you sent her a key,” Clarke adds, pulling out her own phone.

“There is no key emoji, Clarke. Get with the program.”

She snorts, because Bellamy is the last person to ever get with the technological program. “Just don’t piss her off so she leaves us locked out, okay?”

“I have no control over that,” is what he says, even though Octavia has already said she’ll be over within the hour. He shows her the texts anyway, which are currently a string of octopi.

“I don’t speak cephalopod.”

“Always respond with the whale. It reminds Octavia that she cannot actually speak whale.” His sister was obsessed with Finding Nemo when it came out and could not get over the fact that on their one trip to the aquarium, the beluga whale did not respond to her human wails. He likes to remind her of this with frequent use of the whale emoji.

She pulls out her phone and a quick glance shows him she’s texting his sister – with the whale emoji. There’s a surge of fondness for her, because she teases him all the time but she’s more than capable of stooping to his level. It’s why they’re a good team. “She says we need to learn how to climb down the chimney because she’s not coming over anymore.”

“We don’t have a chimney.”

“Apparently that doesn’t matter.”

He snorts and sends his sister a string of fish, topped off with a single whale at the end.

Clarke leans back on her hands, and her leg brushes against his. He doesn’t feel awkward in the silence, which is nice. Out of all his past roommates, Clarke’s the one who understands the most that you don’t always need to be having a conversation just because you’re in the same vicinity. He’d never admit it, but she’s probably the best roommate he’s ever had.  They mesh well, balance out better than even he and Miller had. They even grocery shop together. He could barely get through three aisles with his sister without a major conflict, and Miller stubbornly stuck to frozen dinners. Clarke was guilty of that too but at least she wasn’t opposed to an actual meal, and when they’re both home for the night, they eat dinner together. It’s homey.

It’s of course while he’s in the middle of some internal gushing about how great a roommate Clarke is that she decides to speak up again, only this time she sounds smug. “There is a key emoji, by the way.”

“What?” he jerks up a little and immediately starts scrolling through them. “How have I never seen it before?”

“Because apparently all you do is send whales to your sister.”

“Well now I’m sending her a hundred keys, because I know they exist.”

“No! She’ll probably delay coming over out of spite!” she hisses, without any actual aggression, but she does lean over and start grappling with him for the phone. He jerks it up out of her reach, but it doesn’t work quite as well when they’re both sitting, because she just grabs his shoulder and hauls herself up, half crawling on top of him to make a grab for it. He leans out of the way but loses his balance, the shift destabilizing Clarke too. She falls forward and he falls to the side, but the new angle is enough for her to roll off him and the stoop entirely, falling flat on her back on the ground. 

They’re met with silence again for about three long seconds before Clarke just starts laughing, which saves him the trouble of asking if she’s okay. He sits back up and glances at her, but she isn’t giving any sign of moving, still giggling to herself under her breath with her eyes squinted from the sun.  

His phone goes off and it’s a series of question marks from his sister; apparently their battle sent a string of gibberish interspersed with emoji, which is a level he hadn’t reached yet. Instead of answering like a normal person, he takes a picture of Clarke on the ground and just sends it with the caption _I won._

“Did you know I used to think you were a communist?”

He chokes on nothing. “What?” 

Her eyes are still closed, but she’s smiling. “The way you used to talk about how lucky I was. I mean, you definitely threw around some proletariat language too. It was a safe assumption.”

“Who says I’m not?” He’s not smiling, or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

She opens one eye. “I never did ask. _Are_ you?”

“Real communism doesn’t totally do it for me.”

“As opposed to fake communism?”

“I’m not sure you’re ready for this conversation.”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Octavia texts back another string of question marks, but he leaves it be for now.  If she wants the mystery solved, she can get herself over faster. “Well I mean, you gotta go way back to people like Trotsky –”

“Never mind, you’re right, I’m not ready for this conversation. I need a drink first.”

“Just go get one.”

“Ha ha,” she annunciates. She’s still on the ground with her eyes closed. For one absurd moment, Bellamy thinks about joining her, but that’s probably weird, right? They’ve done some weird things as far as roommates are concerned, like celebrating her new job by building a fort in the living room, but somehow that feels like a step too far.

“Did you break your back? I’m not driving you to the hospital. I nabbed the best parking spot on the street,” is what he says instead.

“Good to know you’d just leave me on the ground to suffer.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he says, far too quickly considering the teasing tone of the conversation. She opens her mouth to reply, but closes it again, like he’s caught her off guard as much as he’s caught himself. “Do you know how hard it is to find a new roommate on short notice?”

Her grin is soft, like she recognizes the follow up question is to derail from the urgency of his first response. The fact that he recognizes what _her_  expression means is even more alarming. It hits him quite suddenly how well he can read her. He’s always known it, found the convenience of their communicative glances to be useful and easy, another facet of their ease as roommates; but it strikes him sitting here now, with the sun beaming down on her, that the only other person’s he’s come this close to knowing so well is his sister. But Clarke isn’t his sister. He’s literally never thought of her like one. He understands her in a different way.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and her voice is surprisingly soft like her smile, “I wouldn’t want to put you in a bind.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward, but it isn’t normal either. It feels like something is hanging out, just out of reach.

He nudges her hip with his foot. “I know.”

She opens her eyes and looks up at him, face twisting into something earnest. “Bellamy –”

There’s a rustling and a voice. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Clarke startles into a seated position, and there’s a flush on her cheeks that Bellamy doesn’t think is from the sun. But he ignores it and they both look over at Lincoln, their neighbor, who’s standing at the edge of his yard behind the fence and looking concerned. Bellamy’s trying really hard not to like him on the grounds that Octavia _really_ likes him, but Lincoln is just genuinely a good person. They’ve even become gym buddies.

“Bellamy got us locked out!” Clarke says cheerfully.

“You’re the one who forgot her keys without realizing. At least I left mine on purpose.”

Lincoln frowns. They like to contemplate whether his genuine concern for all of humankind is a character trait or a fuel. “Is someone coming? Does your landlord have spare keys?”

Bellamy waves his hand. “My sister’s on her way. We’re fine.”

Lincoln’s expression shifts at the mention of Octavia, and Bellamy tries to ignore it. His sister is an adult who can make her own decisions, and he refuses to duplicate the Atom situation. He’s not that kind of asshole anymore, and he likes to think he’s moved beyond being a dick about his sister’s love life by this point in his life. “I’ve got some fresh lemonade, if either of you are thirsty.”

Clarke smiles brightly. “That’d be great! Thanks Lincoln.”

The man disappears into his own house, and Bellamy nudges her again. “What if I didn’t want any lemonade?”

She just gives him an exasperated look as she finally hauls herself off the ground and back onto the stoop beside him. “It probably won’t be pink like you like better, but Lincoln’s lemonade is seriously to die for. I’m doing you a favor.”

“I’ve had it.”

“What? When?”

“I do interact with Lincoln on a fairly regular basis. In case you forgot, I live in this house, and he lives in the one next door.”

She lightly punches him in the arm. “So you’re my roommate.”

“Apparently.”

Clarke smiles, and it’s still soft in a way he’s not used to. It pinches his chest, but it’s a warm feeling. “The only thing we’re missing is a dog.”

“What if I wanted a cat?”

“Those are fighting words, Blake.”

Lincoln comes back out and over with the lemonade, which Bellamy downs half of quickly finding himself suddenly parched. “I need to get back to work, but if you need something before Octavia gets here, let me know,” he says, and they both nod with thank yous. Lincoln works part time from home as artist. It’s how he and Clarke bonded. Once Bellamy came home to find his yard full of spattered rainbow paint and he still has no idea what the end result of their joint project was.

“I like fighting you,” she says quietly, mouth hovering over the rim of her glass and eyes looking straight out instead of at him.

He turns slowly, cup paused in midair. “What?”

She laughs a little. “No not – I just mean it’s fun. It wasn’t always, but it is now. I know you pretend to be cool and you’re secretly a total homebody, but hanging out with you is fun. We should get locked out more often.”

His chest pinches again, and he’s dangerously close to smiling. “You’ll never get me to admit it again,” he starts, taking a sip of his lemonade, “But you’ve been known to be pretty fun on occasion too. Just throw your keys in the trash, who needs to sleep inside?”

“I do. Sorry, I draw the line at camping.”

“I take it back, you’re the opposite of fun.”

She elbows him but then – leans on him. Her shoulder presses into his arm and she swirls the liquid in her cup. She gets this way when she’s drunk sometimes, but he’s come to expect it. Clarke likes to shower people with affection the more she drinks, and he finds himself a common target. Once in a while she does it without the aid of alcohol, and he increasingly finds himself interested in getting her to do it more.

He’s trying not to think about why.

“Okay, maybe I might go camping,” she adds on, about a minute later. “But only if we weren’t totally in the wilderness, and only if I was with you.”

He hesitates. “Just me?”

_She_ hesitates, and her voice comes out quieter again, almost shy.  Which is weird, because Clarke generally doesn’t _do_ shy. “I don’t think I’d mind. Would you?”

“We could always test run in the yard, if Octavia abandons us.”

She laughs and tilts her head to look up at him. “Are we sleeping in the grass?”

“You didn’t seem to mind the ground before.”

“Can I use you for a pillow?”

His brain shorts. “Uh.”

She freeze and her cheeks go a little red. “I was making a joke. Don’t make it weird.”

And then it hits him, pretty suddenly but maybe not entirely unexpectedly: he’s in love with her. It rushes in and feels like he needs to lay over, because he’s always felt strongly for Clarke, but it never occurred to him it might be _love._ He should probably sit on it, think about what he wants to do with this revelation, but like most of his emotional responses, Bellamy gives in to impulse.

“What if I wanted to make it weird?”

She goes even more tense and bites her lip, a tell tale sign of her nerves. The fact that he recognizes what it means makes him smile. “I’d ask if you were making fun of me.”

“I’ve been told I make a decent pillow.”

She shifts, knee pressing into his leg, and that earnest expression from earlier sidles back onto her face. “Are you hitting on me?”

“I’m pretty sure you started it.”

She laughs, but then her hand comes around to cup the side of his face. “So, it’s okay if I do this?”

“Depends. Is it okay if I kiss you?”

There’s no vocal answer; Clarke just snorts before leaning up to close the distance between them and press her mouth to his. It’s careful, like she’s giving him the chance to pull back, but he wasn’t wrong before – she did start it, and his concern that she might not be okay with it is moot. So he leans into it, setting his hand gently on her knee to kiss a little deeper. It’s not inherently anything special, but it _feels_ warmer than he can recall any recent kiss being.

Clarke pulls back but keeps her face close, which is a hundred percent fine by him. He grins at her, at once both nervous and excited. “Is this how you bond with all your roommates?”

“Only when we get locked out,” she says, grinning.

“I’m beginning to think you lost your keys on purpose.”

“No, but I am thinking maybe I _should_ have done that sooner.”

“So you do have a history of it.”

“I’d say you’ve started something in me, but I’d rather not actually test it out.”

He cups her face, and she leans into it. “You’re good, right? This is good?”

“We’re good, Bellamy,” she says, and just like that, he’s pretty sure their roommate status moves up a level in affection. It’s one of those things he just _knows_ , because that’s how they work, and there’s been a mutual shift between them. He’ll still ask her on a real date later, but for now he leans in and presses his lips once more to hers.

His phone goes off, and he ignores it in favor of kissing her – until it goes off again, and again, and he scowls as he digs it out with one hand to silence it because he’s not in the mood for a ruined moment. He catches a glance of the preview message and does a double take, because it’s a string of the kissy face emoji sent from Octavia which – shit.

Bellamy looks up and over, to where his sister has finally arrived, but she’s standing just at the edge of their yard. She throws a key towards them, but it only lands about halfway across and it feels like their gazes all comically watch it fall into the grass. 

“There’s your key, open the door and make out inside like normal people!”

Out of spite, he kisses Clarke on the cheek, and she laughs while his sister rolls her eyes. He tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear then climbs to his feet with a dramatic sigh to retrieve the key. Octavia marches over and raises her eyebrow at him, and he means to match the expression, but instead he just grins at her like an idiot.

“You guys are feeding me dinner tonight,” is all she says, though her eyes are now also calling him an idiot silently. He deserves it, if only because of the excess whale emojis and nothing more about this entire situation.

Clarke comes up next to them, looking flushed but happy. “How about we take you out tomorrow instead?”

“I didn’t come all the way out here for nothing, Clarke. Besides, tonight is pasta night. I have this memorized, and I’m not about to let whatever you guys decided to start here ruin a perfectly good plate of spaghetti. I came with the full intention of stuffing my face, or I would have left you assholes locked out.”

Bellamy hesitates. “She’s right, it is pasta night.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Far be it from us to break from routine.”

“Invite Lincoln,” is all Octavia says before she swipes the key from her brother and stalks up to the house to let herself inside, leaving the door open behind her.

“That’d be a problem if we had a dog,” Clarke says.

“Or a cat.”

“Maybe we should just start with a goldfish.”

“But we can’t take that on our camping trips.”

She beams. “Well, your sister does have a key. I volunteer her as babysitter.”

“It gives her a good excuse to see Lincoln. She’d probably do it.”

“Wow, you must be in a good mood to drop that no big deal.”

He kisses her again, once and briefly, but he’s smiling the whole while, especially when she tucks her hand in his. “I convinced you to go camping. What could be better than that?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, tugging on his hand to lead him inside. There are tons of things better, and they both know it; simply holding her hand is better, but she smiles at him anyway. “Absolutely nothing, Bellamy.”

He gets to hold her hand as much as he wants to now, and that might be even better than being her roommate. Now, he gets to kiss her as much as he wants too, and he’s never been happier for a forgotten set of keys. “I knew you’d come around.”

**Author's Note:**

> if they can't ever be happy in canon, let modern aus reign strong


End file.
